


the hurt he left

by oratorio



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-02
Updated: 2014-12-02
Packaged: 2018-02-27 22:19:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2708753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oratorio/pseuds/oratorio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short drabble about Verah Lavellan after the final victory.  She is in no mood to party.  Cole is the only one who notices.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the hurt he left

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I romanced Solas in Dragon Age Inquisition and this has ripped my heart into many shreds and filled me with a renewed desire to write lots of fan fiction. I have some longer stories on the go, but I thought I would start by posting a short drabble about the party after the final victory, which my poor confused Lavellan did not cope with very well at all.  
> Feedback appreciated! (And any emotional support also welcome, haha)

The stone is cold underfoot as she slowly ascends the steps to gaze down on the people of Skyhold. She is barely aware of the smile she forces on to her face, barely hears the cheers and the laughter. She is a hero, she has saved them all. Everything is well with the world once more. Except it isn’t, is it?

Verah Lavellan, Inquisitor and Herald of Andraste (she always hated that, she thinks, as if nobody could understand that human religions meant nothing to her). Dalish elf, apostate mage, First of her Clan. So many titles, and more respect and power than any elf had earned in hundreds of years. Yet here she stands, the world celebrating around her, feeling utterly empty.

She allows herself to be funnelled into the main hall of the stronghold, where the party is in full swing. Bull and Varric are well into the ale already, making jokes about Cullen keeping his clothes on. Josephine is, predictably, fussing over the cakes and loudly worrying whether people are having a good time. Everyone else is deep in conversation and they don’t notice her as she glides between them, as light and quiet as a ghost.

Her hand is on the door to her quarters when she hears the soft voice behind her.

“First, she said, and she was – but so was he. He grieves, guilty, gasping. Too many tears. Should have been stronger.”

She freezes, heart beating hard in her chest as she struggles to take a breath.

“Wanted to be not alone, just for a night. Just for a while. Sadness like a thousand empty years. He is sorry.”

“Cole,” she says, without turning round. “Who is sorry?”

“She wears a mask but not like the palace. Sorrow, confusion, nobody sees except me. I can help.”

Verah sighs. “You can’t help, Cole. Not this time.”

She feels the spirit standing close behind her, feels his hand hovering by her shoulder.

“I can take it away.”

For half a moment, she considers it. She has cried herself to sleep every night for too long, and she knows there are many more tears left inside. But the thought of losing the other memories of him… no, she could not do that.

Turning, she takes Cole’s hand and looks into his pale blue eyes, almost as tired and pained as her own.

“No. Sometimes it has to hurt. But thank you. It helps to know someone cares.”

She pulls the boy into a brief hug which he returns with surprising strength – he misses Solas too, she thinks – before heading to her room for another long, lonely night staring at the stars.


End file.
